


Uncharted Territory

by imagined_melody



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comeplay, Fingerfucking, First Time, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, really just ridiculous porn you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_melody/pseuds/imagined_melody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a conversation leads to a First Time. Straight-up Petyr/Varys porn all the way, 6600 words of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncharted Territory

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been almost a month in the making. Ever since I wrote "The Animal Inside," in which it's implied that Petyr and Varys have an on/off romantic and sexual relationship, I've been thinking about ways I could continue that storyline. But I eventually decided that I couldn't write them having sex in the future until I'd figured out their past. So I wrote this as a way to sort of puzzle that out. As a result, it may not be as coherent or polished or in-character as I would like, but hopefully it will still appeal to you if you read it. It's porn, but it's about 80% foreplay of one kind or another, if you like that kind of thing. :)
> 
> No spoilers for the book series or the TV show. Not necessary to read "The Animal Inside" first. Note: I did research how castration affects sexual desire and whether eunuchs can have orgasms (if I die, BTW, someone please break into my house and delete my internet search history), but then I immediately disregarded all of the information I found and just wrote what I wanted to happen. So events in the story may not be consistent with biological fact. 
> 
> Warning for past dubious consent, in relation to a character's prior relationships. The tags went all funny when I tried to add that, for some reason, so I'm putting it here in the notes instead.
> 
> Final note: This is far and away the porniest thing I've ever written. *blushes*

The first time they slept together was, by necessity as much as anything else, prefaced by a conversation.

There was no need to establish the desire between them; Petyr had known of it, had felt it, since he walked into the Great Hall at King’s Landing and was greeted by the sight of the Master of Whisperers, lingering in the hall apart from a couple of courtiers, watching the goings-on with the kind of detached air that heard and saw everything. Their eyes had met, and Petyr had been unable to look away for a long moment. Something burned through him at the sensation of being watched so closely.

The king had arrived soon afterward, and Petyr Baelish’s first day at King’s Landing had begun. But Petyr could not shake the feeling of Lord Varys’ eyes on him. He imagined he could feel it even when he was alone. It was a scrutiny that was not entirely unwelcome, the kind that would uncover secrets and make you forget you didn’t want anyone to know about them. _Dangerous,_ he thought, but he _wanted._

It had not taken long to discover that Varys’ wit was as quick as Petyr’s own, his ambitions perhaps less lofty, but no less powerful for that. Lord Baelish relished the opportunity for a friendly rivalry; friends as a whole had been few and far between for him before now, and most of those he was acquainted with lacked the cleverness to match his own mind. And still, the electric-sharp sense of desire flared low between them, unacknowledged but unavoidable. There was no need for Petyr to ask if Varys felt the same tug. He was not so very experienced, despite his association with whores and brothels, but he could recognize attraction when he saw it. Perhaps better than most, since he knew enough prostitutes to tell when it was being feigned.

And so, they found themselves in the darkened space of Baelish’s chambers one evening, not long after the sun had set but long enough that the day’s work had been well put behind them. The room was illuminated only by candles and firelight at this hour, and they sat in cushioned chairs close to the blazing hearth, though there was no chill in the air. Wine had provided just enough relaxation to invite a bit more openness in conversation, and that was when the subject had been broached.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Petyr began, and Varys smirked, knowing that the phrase was a formality and Baelish would ask even if he did mind, “given your… _condition_ , how might you satisfy a man’s urges?”

Varys took another sip of his drink before answering, but he seemed unperturbed; his gaze was steady and calm as he affixed Petyr with it. Petyr resisted the urge to squirm. “Has your experience in our nation’s pleasure houses not been informative on this subject?” he asked casually.

Petyr laughed at the light jab. “Forgive me if I have not yet seen every sexual permutation available in my work,” he responded.

“Yes, well, you would be forced to spend every waking moment there to achieve that,” was Varys’ quick response, and the two of them laughed again, quietly. Silence descended, and Petyr wondered if his friend would refuse to answer the question. But then the words came.

“You think of it as though I were one who has the necessary… _equipment_ and chooses not to use it,” Varys began to explain. “It is not so straightforward as that. When I was cut, I was not entirely matured, but I had begun to experience urges, if you will. Changes, which all men undergo.” Baelish inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression showing that he listened intently. “But without the sexual parts of a man, I cannot perform as a man would. That much, I assume, is obvious.”

“But can you perform at all, I wonder,” Baelish mused.

“It depends,” Varys said, “on what you mean by _perform_.” He placed the goblet on the table nearby, clasping his hands together and settling back in his chair. “I am not entirely inexperienced—one does many things to achieve advancement, after all, some less desirable than most.” Petyr tried to imagine Varys selling himself, then immediately tried to forget whatever images his mind managed to conjure. They conflicted with the idea of the man sitting before him now, and left a bad taste in his mouth besides. “I have had other lovers, as well, with whom I was sexually involved. I am familiar with the mechanics, and there are ways to bring a man satisfaction without the parts I lack. But you are wondering whether they brought me any satisfaction.”

“At the moment I am mainly wondering whether you intend to tell me at all,” Petyr said teasingly.

Varys returned his sly smile. “And ruin the suspense of a good story?” he teased back. A moment of silence fell, returning the mood to a serious one. “It is possible,” Varys finally said hesitantly, “but highly difficult to achieve, almost too difficult to be worth the attempt. Only one man with whom I have been involved has ever managed it, and even he succeeded only once. On my own? I often grow too impatient to persist for long enough to reach such a release, but I also have done so only a few times. As I said, it is not usually worth the effort.”

The admission struck Petyr as painfully sad. To be capable of arousal but not climax, even at one’s own hand? His head spun a bit with the thought, although on further examination, it could also be the wine. “I am—“

“Do not say you are sorry,” Varys muttered, and Petyr stopped himself from saying exactly that. Varys looked up at him, his face unreadable—Petyr thought he saw a slight annoyance there, but also sheepishness at his small outburst. “Of course you do not mean to offend,” he said, his eyes softening, “but forgive me if I say I have had more than enough pity in my lifetime. I have begun to find ridicule more palatable to such attempts at sympathy.”

“Understood,” Petyr said, allowing his voice to become sincere in deference to Varys’ own candidness; the other man relaxed perceptibly, and Petyr took that as permission to continue. “What is it like, when you do succeed? Since I imagine you do not—“ he gestured widely to his lower body.

Varys huffed out a laugh. “No, of course not,” he replied. “Without a male’s sexual organ I cannot, well, _produce_ anything if I manage to achieve release. There are places on a man’s body, though, which respond to pleasure. They can contract and become sensitive with the right stimulation, although without any connection to the genitals the sensation is somewhat dulled. I am told that, in addition to being difficult to accomplish, the peaks of my pleasure are less intense than what a normal man might feel.”

Baelish was quiet for a stretch. Finally he asked, “So why do you still do it, then?”

Varys looked only mildly taken aback at his directness; his surprise quickly melted into a vague, fond amusement. “I do still experience urges, from time to time,” he said with a small smile, so that Petyr did not feel awkward about the blunt question. “There is enjoyment still to be had from the act itself. I find I desire the intimacy of it, more than the satisfaction—and indeed, part of the intimacy I crave is that of the sexual act as well as the romantic. One does not become entirely dead inside when one is cut.”

“I have never known you to be with a partner,” Baelish commented over the rim of his wine glass, “and in my line of work, it is my business to know who everyone’s partners are.” His eyes shone with mirth; Varys’ own glittered back. “You must be very secretive indeed.”

“In _my_ line of work, would you expect anything less?” Varys retorted, and Baelish made a quiet sound of amusement. But Varys looked at him with such seriousness that he stopped still, sensing that the conversation had turned to something significant. “As I said, I have had lovers in my time. You should know that most of my past dalliances have been rather short-lived.” It was not quite a direct acknowledgment of why they were really having this conversation, what it was a prelude to, but Baelish now understood the mood that had taken over the room. Varys was no longer telling him this merely as a friend to another friend. “It is difficult for a man to accept when he is unable to please his partner, if he cares at all for them. Though they knew what you now know, and they swore it would prove no barrier to their commitment, over time they grew frustrated by their lack of effect on me. Invariably, all who were so confident to begin with eventually disappeared.” His tight smile was more of a grimace. “It is often easier to attempt to please myself, or to abstain entirely, than to find a partner who is not bothered by my rather unique circumstances.” And now his expression had changed again, the rascal, a slight flirtatiousness creeping back in. “But perhaps you understand pleasure better than most.”

Petyr smirked as well, almost casually but for the darkening of his eyes as a wave of heat passed through him at Varys’ words. He knew Varys did not miss the signs of his increased arousal. “I can hardly claim that,” he said with half-false modesty. “But if we are being truly honest, I must admit I yearn to see for myself how you would enjoy another man. You make it sound so tantalizing.” He was partially teasing, though gently—Varys’ confessions of the past minutes had been in many ways the opposite of tantalizing. But it was clear, Petyr knew, that he was not entirely unaffected.

Varys got up from his chair, slowly, and padded over until he was level with Petyr, leaning down over the seated man with his hands braced on the arms of Baelish’s chair. “And are you offering to be that man, Lord Baelish?” he inquired, lips only inches away from Petyr’s own.

Petyr did not need to say the word yes out loud; Varys, indeed, had spoken as one who already knows the answer to his own question. Instead he brought his palm to rest against the back of Varys’ neck, guiding him in to connect their lips together. The kiss felt like it was searing its way into his bones, even more so when Varys immediately opened his mouth to him, deepening the contact and intensifying it tenfold. Petyr’s hand clumsily flailed up to Varys’ waist, pulling on the edge of his robe until the man shifted forward and settled in his lap; the position was awkward since Varys was larger in body, but Petyr thrilled at having him so close.

“Ah, yes,” Varys murmured against his lips when they pulled back for breath, “I do like this very much. It has been so long since I have had a man to kiss; forgive me if I find it difficult to stop.” Petyr felt strong, thick fingers tangle with his own, and then Varys was bringing one of Petyr’s hands up to his face, grazing his lips tenderly over the back of his hand. Petyr’s mouth fell open slightly, and Varys’ answering smile was knowing and fond. Varys wiggled a little, shifting to get comfortable on top of Petyr’s spread legs. When he was settled in, they surged forward again, eager to get their mouths back on each other.

Varys must not have been lying about liking to kiss, Petyr thought, because he was very good at it. His lips slid against Petyr’s in a relentless give and take, responsive to every bit of affection Petyr offered him. Quiet murmurs accompanied the movement of Lord Baelish’s hands against his sides; encouraged by Varys’ appreciation, he stilled his hands against the small of the man’s back, fingertips digging in slightly to increase the pressure of their bodies together. Varys made a happy sound at that, and Baelish marveled at his obvious enjoyment of the intimacy. “Enjoying yourself?” he said, leaning in to deliver a series of quick pecks to Varys’ mouth and then tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth as they separated.

“Mmm,” Varys replied. He nuzzled into the side of Baelish’s head, and Baelish used the new angle to bring his lips to Varys’ exposed neck, sucking lightly before nipping with his teeth. Varys shivered against him. “You see, I do not remain completely unaffected by you,” he commented softly, hissing in a sharp inhale when Petyr bit a little more firmly, his hand coming up to anchor his partner’s head there.

Truth be told, Petyr was not unaffected by the current turn of events either. He could feel himself responding, his body thrumming with arousal and certain lower parts of him beginning to fill as well. For a moment he shifted back, worried that Varys would not want to be confronted with the very reaction his body was unable to produce. But Vary stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Lord Baelish, really,” he chastised gently, “You would pry from me all the secrets of my pleasure, and yet deny me access to yours? How cruel.” And there was that slight smirk again, the expression Baelish had come to interpret as an invitation for him to press Varys a bit further.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to reveal all my own so easily, and take the fun out of the game,” he joked back, and Varys smiled openly at that. “Besides, you have told me far less than you claim. _There are places on a man’s body, responsive to pleasure_ , you say…what could you have been referring to, I wonder? For one who lacks the primary source?” He bit his lip in a mockery of deep thought, at the same time letting his hands travel down from the small of Varys’ back to the curve of his ass, then running a finger down to just barely graze the crease in the center. Varys made a small choked-off sound, and Petyr glanced up to see his eyes wide and open and glazed with desire. “Ah, yes,” he said as though he hadn’t known all along. “I think I may know of one.”

Varys’ voice was slightly unsteady when he answered, a greater betrayal of his arousal than any outward sign. “I would expect spending time in a brothel tells you much about how to please a man.”

“Indeed, it is far more instructive on how to satisfy a man than a woman,” Petyr answered candidly, thinking of the women who made a profession of their bodies in such places, and whose own desires were mysteries despite how often they engaged in sex. “But I do believe I knew this one before I came here.”

Varys smiled down at him. “From one of your prior conquests? Oh, you must tell me all about that sometime. I imagine your past must be quite the story.”

Petyr warred with what to say in response. “It is if you enjoy boring things, which I know you do not,” he finally answered. “Now, shall we test my theory, perhaps on the bed? That, I know, is something we might both enjoy.”

Varys eased off of him and allowed Petyr to precede him to the bed. It felt awkward at first—they were not sure how to position themselves in relation to one another—but finally they ended up simply sitting at the edge of the bed, returning to the kissing they had both established they enjoyed. It was Petyr who took the next step: his fingers reached up to toy with the partition of Varys’ outer robe, nudging the fabric back a bit to expose a fraction more of his skin. When Varys allowed him to do this, his other hand wrapped around the tie of his robes, pulling until they loosened at his waist.

It was only then that Varys made him pause. “I hate to interrupt,” he said, very softly; Petyr paused to listen, “but there is one point on which I wish to be certain we are absolutely clear.” Reassured that Varys was not calling a permanent halt to the proceedings, Petyr kept his hands where they were, although he made no move to further undress Varys. When he looked up, the man’s eyes were completely open and serious—and something else. Vulnerable, Petyr realized. The first sincere, non-feigned vulnerability he had ever seen the Master of Whisperers display. “I am not overstating things when I say that my condition has been… _prohibitive_ to my other partners in the past. You are an ambitious man, Lord Baelish, and ambitious men are competitive. They do not take well to disappointment. I do not wish to do this if it will only disappoint you.”

There was more being revealed here, Petyr knew, than simply what Varys had said. Couched in a concern for Baelish’s pride was a protectiveness of Varys’ own well-being. He pondered the sadness of Varys’ story as it had been told him—not just the way in which he had been severed of his manhood, and with it his ability to fully experience pleasure, but also the admission of how it had affected his ability to gain love. All partners to whom he had opened himself had ultimately left; surely not all of them for this reason, but quite a few, or Varys wouldn’t have mentioned it. This was a last attempt to gain surety of Petyr’s intentions, to be certain his trust was not ill-placed. Petyr could not fault him for this impulse to guard himself.

“You have given me fair enough warning,” he finally said, for lack of anything else to say. “I could make an attempt to reassure you that I will do no such thing. But you are clever, so you will only disregard it.” Varys’ eyes were locked on his, sad and steady. “You know I can make no promises. But I would like to continue, if I may. Shall we let the matter rest, for the moment, and return to it another time?”

Like a switch being pulled, the tension that had gathered protectively in Varys’ body seeped out of him in a rush. He let his lips briefly graze against Petyr’s own, then pulled back a fraction of an inch, letting Petyr take the initiative. Petyr did not let him get very far. Their lips smashed together again, and then Baelish was using his weight to bear Varys down onto the mattress. As he did, his hand returned to working open the man’s robes, until they were splayed around his body, more off than on.

Varys was certainly not a beautiful man, by any standards. Petyr’s attraction had been surprising for that very reason: as someone who worked among all kinds of beauty, he was stunned to find that the most intriguing specimen he had encountered so far at King’s Landing had been not a young, stunning woman or sweet-faced man, but his fellow councilman in the king’s service—a man no longer quite young, heavy-set, hairless, and lacking some very basic equipment. And yet he did not find Varys undesirable for that. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, or the pleasure of his company. It was not mere curiosity alone—Baelish knew when he was simply feeling curious, and also how to restrain himself from pursuing those paths for only that reason. This was a different animal of an emotion, which he could not yet put his finger on.

(He would not get around to calling it _love_ , not for a long time, and never out loud.)

They took their time with it. For all that Petyr had gotten used to the quick-and-dirty sexual style of his current surroundings, he preferred to prolong his exploration and foreplay, making it last until he could stand it no longer. He sensed that Lord Varys might appreciate this more too. He seemed genuinely pleased by even the smallest manner of affection, meeting Lord Baelish movement for movement—and there was a sweetness to it, as though he not only desired it, but had _missed_ it. Petyr wondered how long it had been since Varys had been with a partner, particularly one he deemed suitable.

On impulse, he asked the question, in between kisses up and down Varys’ chest. He felt the man’s heartbeat quicken slightly, but there was no hesitation when he answered. “A very long time indeed,” he said, and while it was not a specific reply, it said all Baelish needed to know. Then he heard him ask, “And how long, Lord Baelish, since you have enjoyed the company of anyone who was not a whore?”

Baelish was momentarily stunned, but then he laughed aloud at Varys’ brazenness. “A long time,” he admitted, his voice amused. If Varys was teasing him, it meant he was comfortable. That was promising. He pushed the splayed robes the rest of the way off the man’s shoulders, sliding them off the bed so they would not be crushed by their bodies, and then let his fingers rest at the waist of Varys’ pants. “Shall we see what all the fuss is about, then?” he said with a glimmer in his eye, a roundabout way of asking for permission to reveal the most private part of the man.

Varys made an acquiescent sound and raised his hips just enough to allow Petyr to slide his lower garments off in one long movement. He was completely bare now, and Petyr studied the sight with careful attention, trying not to stare too pointedly or rudely. He did not know what he had expected to see, but true to Varys’ word, not even a stub of his manhood remained; it had been cleanly removed all the way to the bottom. The area was darker and less smooth with scarring, suggesting that it had been messily but adequately treated and healed. Petyr’s hand twitched up as though to touch, but he stopped himself immediately, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. He looked up at Varys, scrutinizing him for a reaction.

“You may touch, if you like,” Varys conceded. His eyes were calm, but wide, and Petyr thought he looked slightly nervous. “It would not be unusual if you wanted to.” He shifted on the bed, his legs spreading incrementally, and Baelish sensed he was trying to relax.

Very gently, he grazed his fingertips over the swath of flesh where once there had been a man’s organ. It was raised to the touch, ridged with scar tissue, but without any detectable protrusion left from where he was actually cut. Varys’ breath hitched slightly at the pass of fingers against it, and Petyr glanced up, mildly surprised. “Do you feel something, when I touch you there?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

Varys’ gaze on him now was somewhat more intense—more aroused, Petyr thought. “There are still nerve endings,” he answered in a slightly breathless voice. “It is no more sensitive than most other places on my body, I suppose. But to be touched there still feels very, ah, intimate.”

“A spot more sensitive in the mind than in the body,” Petyr said with a small smile as he continued to examine it with eyes and fingers. “That is fascinating.”

Varys chuckled, still breathlessly. “I am glad you find it so.”

Now that this bridge had been crossed, Petyr returned to his observation of Varys’ whole body. He danced fingers around the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, let them travel down to press into his feet (Varys made a very pleased sound at that, and Baelish catalogued it away, thinking to himself that massage might be an interesting thing to try at a later point). For the most part, Varys kept his own hands still; every once in a while he would run fingers through Baelish’s short hair, when his head was within reach, or grab his shoulder to pull him up for a kiss, but mostly he let the man satisfy his urge to survey the terrain, so to speak. It was rare for Baelish to be allowed such a thing, and he savored it, enjoying the fruits of his partner’s patience.

Finally Varys did speak up. His voice was low and contented, and his eyes half-lidded; Petyr seemed to have lulled him into a state of half-aroused relaxation. “How very generous of you, Lord Baelish, to focus so on your partner and demand nothing for yourself.” There was a hint of teasing there.

Petyr paused in his navigation of the skin around Varys’ waist, pressing a kiss to his hipbone. “On the contrary, I have been very selfish indeed,” he admitted. “My own curiosity must have gotten the better of me.” He slithered back up Varys’ body, smiling into his skin as he claimed the eunuch’s mouth in one teasing kiss, then a second, then a third. As he did so, he felt a hand snaking up to the clasps of his tunic, loosening them until he could gain access to the skin beneath the fine fabric. A purposeful finger thumbed at his nipple, and Petyr allowed a sharp gasp to disappear into Varys’ mouth.

“You _are_ sensitive,” Varys commented, sounding pleased. His finger continued gently circling around the hardened nub, listening to the way Petyr’s breath sped up at the persistent sensation.

“One of my many—ah—secrets,” Baelish said wryly. Varys’ hand had traveled downwards, just inches away from grasping him, and the anticipation was sending his mind reeling.

Varys removed his hand from inside the folds of clothing and set about removing them, once Petyr sat back enough to give him room. The idea of being bared was making Petyr strangely nervous, thrilling though it was. Varys uncovered his top half first, running an open hand over the planes of his chest, and then—with a single-minded intensity that made Petyr want to squirm—pulled the trousers down so that Baelish was completely naked.

The look Varys gave him as his eyes swept up and down Baelish’s body was almost hungry. He felt himself flushing with it, and Varys smiled kindly at him. His hand wrapped around Petyr’s hip, thumb rubbing at the protrusion of bone there—close enough to his groin to spike his arousal by a few degrees. He was tumescent, not hard enough for the need for pleasure to be urgent, but enough to clearly display his desire. Varys pressed a wet kiss to his neck, sucking at the pulse point so the blood raced beneath his tongue, and Petyr whined under his breath.

“Are you intending to touch me, at any point in this endeavor?” he asked, something slightly needy creeping into his voice.

“Oh, would you like me to?” Varys asked innocently. His hand was inching closer and closer to Petyr’s cock, which was rising up steadily to meet him.

Petyr huffed out a laugh and grabbed Varys’ wrist, guiding it until his fingers brushed the hardening shaft. “I would not be adverse to _some_ stimulation,” he teased, breath catching as Varys let his palm slide across him, providing a bit of pressure where it was needed most. “I presume you are sufficiently experienced to meet such a task.”

Finally, the firm hand wrapped around him, giving his erection a few preliminary strokes. Petyr felt himself respond immediately; his cock twitched, filling further, and he couldn’t hold back a cut-off moan. It would be embarrassing if not for the darkening of Varys’ eyes, a clear sign that he was enjoying Petyr’s pleasure.

“Perhaps it is because I was so soon parted with my own,” Varys commented mildly, “but I must admit, I find this rather fascinating.” He ran his thumb over Petyr’s slit, humming with satisfaction when a bead of pre-come pulsed out and was spread slickly over the head by Varys’ finger. Petyr pushed up into his hand, and Varys relented and tightened the circle of his fingers a bit, providing a circle for him to thrust into. His other hand gravitated to the small of Petyr’s back, gently pushing him forward in Varys’ lap until their lower halves came into contact. Petyr’s hardness rubbed lightly against the smoother expanse of Varys’ pelvis, a completely new sensation—not rigid there like a man would be, nor slick as a woman would.

Petyr let a hand come up to wrap around the back of Varys’ head, using it as a handhold while he rocked gently against him. The action seemed effective for both of them, if Varys’ heavy breaths and quiet moans were any indication. But Petyr had other intentions. He slowed his movements until they were nothing more than slight, involuntary jerks of his hips. His voice, when he spoke, was lower and rougher than usual. “I have not forgotten that I promised to find a spot you deemed pleasurable.”

Varys made a small happy sound. The color was high on his cheeks, a lovely delicate blush. Petyr felt a strange rush of affection for it. “I take it you have no objection?” he asked, eyes inquiring upon Varys’ face.

The other man’s gaze softened. “If it is consent you seek,” he responded gently, “you have it.” Petyr knew better than to ask, but could read between the lines; something in Varys’ demeanor spoke of the fact that others, in the past, had overlooked this essential gesture. Perhaps Varys had still been willing, in those moments, but the possibility remained that he had not. Petyr soothed those thoughts away by sealing their mouths again, leaning in to bear Varys’ body down onto the mattress as he did so.

He did not have to reach far to grasp the salve concealed within his bedside table; Varys smirked when he saw it, and Petyr nipped playfully at his lip in response. He moved to uncap the vial, but was paused in his efforts by a hand at his wrist. Varys’ eyes were wide and serious. “Your fingers only,” he instructed. “Please. Since it has been so long…”

Petyr nodded and dropped a brief kiss to Varys’ jaw, an affectionate impulse, before nudging him to turn and lie on his stomach. In this position the man’s backside was quite visible—not slender, no part of Varys was, but not unattractive for that. He wet a finger with the slick fluid and ran it down the center of the man’s buttocks, passing over the puckered hole in the process but not breaching it. Varys sighed and moved back against him, and Petyr poured more oil on his hand, making sure it was thoroughly coated before worming one finger inside.

“Oh,” Varys said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. He sounded comfortable, so Baelish chanced to push in a little further, wiggling to stretch the tight canal of Varys’ hole as he did so. Varys relaxed easily around him and granted him more access. “You go so slowly,” he commented, but his tone was easy and light, broadcasting neither urgency nor uneasiness.

Petyr smirked. “It is purely out of sensitivity to your lordship, I assure you,” he teased. As he slid further in, his eyes met Varys’. “Do you like this?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Varys smiled, his gaze clear and steady. “Very much,” he assured Petyr, biting his lip as he drew most of the way out and parted Varys’ opening to push a second finger in alongside the first, scissoring them to make room and then going deeper, exploring. Varys made a small sound of pleasure. “Oh, you are quite close to it now,” he murmured, bucking upward slightly until Petyr felt his fingertip graze something firm. “There,” he sighed.

Petyr favored the spot with several delicate passes, listening to the sighs and quiet sounds Varys made in response. “Tell me,” he inquired, “does the pleasure you feel from this not build in you? What keeps it from bringing you satisfaction?”

Varys squirmed a little, clearly sensitive, but not desperately so. “On the contrary, Lord Baelish. It brings satisfaction, but in a different way. It is rather more like a relief, as when one soothes the tension from a sore muscle.”

“A sore muscle, you say?” Petyr said mischievously, and leaned down to lick at the stretched opening around his finger. Varys laughed above him and moaned softly, and the lewdness of his own gesture made Petyr’s arousal spike further. Idly he ground his hips against the bedding, feeling a drop of fluid from his leaking cock seep into the sheets. “And have you been feeling much tension there?”

This made Varys laugh a little more. “In a manner of speaking,” he answered. Petyr heard his breath become a stuttering exhale when he managed to worm his tongue in alongside the fingers already there, stretching him to accommodate the additional intrusion. Varys let him lick his way in for a stretch of time. Then he said in a shaky voice, “It is hardly fair that I cannot reach you, in this position.”

Petyr reluctantly pulled back, removing his tongue from the man’s body. In other circumstances, perhaps, he would devote more time to his ministrations, at the expense of his own body’s desires. But the erection which hung full and heavy between his legs was beginning to ache for want of attention, and the friction of the mattress would not be enough to suffice. He kept his hand encased in the warm heat of Varys’ body, but pulled himself upwards so that they were flush against one another, their hips nearly level.

Together, they set up a rhythm—Petyr thrusting up against the firm nub in time with each upstroke of Varys’ hand on him. It didn’t take long for him to feel the building pleasure begin to crest. “Varys,” he breathed, his hips jerking a little to increase the pressure on his throbbing erection.

“Here,” Varys said in a voice that sounded a bit breathless with anticipation. “Come here.” Petyr finally slid up all the way, his fingers only just inside Varys as the other man pulled him into a fierce kiss. Moments later, Petyr shuddered and felt himself spill onto Varys’ stomach, warm liquid on warm skin. His moan of climax was swallowed by Varys’ mouth; his tremors were soothed by the man’s hand (the other was still working on his twitching erection, slower now, to bring him down from the peak). He finally stilled and caught his breath, the little jolts of aftershocks spreading through his nerves. It wasn’t the hardest he’d ever come, but Petyr thought it might have been the most satisfying orgasm he’d had in a long time.

His fingers had slipped out of Varys in the heat of the moment; now Baelish ran a slightly trembling hand over his partner’s leg, thumb grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, teasing only a fraction of an inch from his perineum. “Are you satisfied?” he asked, in a voice that was nearly steady. “Or would you like me to continue?”

Varys looked at him with an inexplicably fond expression. His clean hand came up to Petyr’s cheek, bestowing a feather-light caress just under the man’s eye, a terribly intimate gesture that Baelish found he welcomed more than he would have expected. Then again, he was rarely allowed to be soft after sex, and was used to ignoring such urges for affection when they arose. “Lord Baelish, I daresay you _do_ understand my unique predicament better than most, after all,” he said admiringly, and Petyr knew he had asked the right question before. He still did not grasp how this worked for Varys, how to end things if one participant was not chasing a climax, but it seemed unfair to stop simply because he himself had finished. “I feel quite satisfied; you do not need to enter me again, I think. But more of your touch would not be entirely unwelcome.”

Petyr hummed, acquiescent and pleased, and let his instincts do the deciding for him. Idly he lifted Varys’ sticky hand, which was lying at his side, and ran his tongue in lazy patterns over the soiled fingers, relishing the low sound Varys made in return. Once that was completely clean, he gathered some of the release that was streaked over the man’s chest and torso; his fingers now slick with the cooling fluid, he let them drift downwards, spreading it all over Varys’ sensitive perineum and the swath of skin where his manhood would otherwise be. Varys’ muscles twitched at that, and Petyr grinned to himself, knowing for sure now that he was succeeding in giving pleasure. Rearranging Varys so his knees were bent and Petyr was sprawled between them, he lowered his face to the spot he had just painted and licked it clean as well. He let his tongue play over the planes of his pelvis and down, down until he reached the opening where his fingers had been before, ghosting his tongue tantalizingly over the hole, which spasmed once, before separating and coming back up onto his elbows again.

Varys’ eyes were dark with pleasure when he met the man’s gaze, but he looked content. The Master of Whispers swiped a finger over Baelish’s lips. “I daresay you have an affinity for giving pleasure with your mouth,” he commented, his voice low and sexy in a way Petyr had never heard it.

“I enjoy using my mouth in many ways,” he responded, and Varys let his head fall back on the pillow as he laughed, every muscle in his body telegraphing relaxation.

“Yes, that is true, isn’t it?” Varys chuckled, but those were all the words he was able to get out before Petyr scooted up so they were perfectly aligned on the bed and let Varys kiss him until his lips were sore. Just to show him how much he liked using his mouth and tongue.

Some time later, as they were dressing themselves again, Varys asked casually, “Well, Lord Baelish, do you feel as though you understand now how I might enjoy a man in bed?”

“I feel as though there is much more learn, than what I have discovered,” he answered honestly, before realizing how easily that might be construed as an invitation to repeat their activities in the future. He had not intended to suggest such a thing, but now that the words were out, he couldn’t help but find the prospect deeply appealing.

Varys’ own features had returned to their usual, poker-faced expression, but Petyr could have sworn he saw a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Then I suppose, if you have additional inquiries, you should feel free to pose them. My skills lie, after all, in the provision of information.”

Somehow, Petyr managed to wait until he had left the room before he let the smile spread across his face.


End file.
